


It's All Fine

by thanku4urlove



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Hikaru, Drinking, Getting Together, Halloween Costumes, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Sharing a Bed, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 19:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanku4urlove/pseuds/thanku4urlove
Summary: College is a time for growth and self-discovery. Yabu Kota, though, is pretty sure he already has the whole thing figured out. He's one year from graduation, majoring in Communications, ready to find himself a girlfriend and start making his way in the world. Until, that is, he meets an Art major named Yaotome Hikaru with a strangely endearing smile.





	It's All Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2017.

“And that will be…” Yabu pauses for a second, ringing up the final item, a painfully heavy textbook that costs much more than it’s worth. As he reports the final amount he gets a frown. Yabu recognizes the young man behind the counter as a stranger from his Speech class, but doesn’t mention it.

“I took that class last year.” He says instead, pointing to the Anthropology book on the counter. “The book is expensive, sure, but it saved my life in that class.”

He hopes his anecdote helps at least a little, but the man’s expression is unchanging as he picks up his purchases and heads off towards the exit. Yabu can’t fault him though; working as a cashier at the Student Center on his college campus means that most of the customers he interacts with are disgruntled and sleep-deprived, so he’s already more than used to it.

A cold blast of air enters the store as the doors open, Yabu shivering in his staff issued t-shirt and looking over in the direction of the offending wind. He’s met with a peculiar sight, a smile coming to his lips. He could only assume the entering person was a student--though truth be told, the heavy coat and thick green scarf wrapped multiple times around his neck and lower face make it extremely hard to tell--watching him retreat into the store. A cold front had just blown into the area, but Yabu doesn’t think it’s really _that_ chilly outside. Pretty normal weather, actually, for the last weeks of August.

After about twenty minutes the bundled up man appears again and this time Yabu can’t hold in a laugh, the sound coming out as an ill-disguised sneeze as his register is approached. The man is holding what has to be nearly thirty-five different travel-sized bottles of hand sanitizer, dumping them all onto the counter.

“Yeah, I know.” He says, pulling the scarf back from his face to respond, Yabu realizing he must have heard the laugh. His voice is rough and his nose sounds stuffed up, the tip of it pink. “I’ve got a bit of a cold, sorry. I’ll try not to breathe on you.”

“That’s alright, I never get sick.” Yabu assures him, beginning to ring up the bottles. “What do you have? It’s a bit early for the flu, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, probably hay fever or something. I get it all the time.”

“That sucks.” Yabu remarks. The customer laughs.

“You don’t need to tell me.”

They chat casually while Yabu finishes scanning and bagging all of the hand sanitizer, discovering that he’s talking to a sophomore Art major named Yaotome Hikaru. Yabu is about to start talking about his own major when he’s interrupted by a debit card being handed over.

“Oh, right.” He mutters sheepishly. That gets him another laugh but the sound turns quickly into a cough, Hikaru’s hands shaky as he reaches over for his bag of purchases.

“Maybe we can pick up this conversation some other time.” He says, and he even sounds slightly apologetic. “For now though, I need to go home, drink a gallon of ginger tea, and take a nap.”

Yabu laughs and nods, Hikaru beginning to depart.

“Sounds good. Feel better soon!”

Hikaru glances over his shoulder, waving in thanks, beaming a crook-toothed grin to Yabu in response. A strange feeling tugs at Yabu’s chest, finding something oddly endearing about the expression, unable not to smile back.

_It's his teeth,_ Yabu realizes, two weeks later when he sees Hikaru again. _His teeth are cute._

The two of them are alone in the dorm’s study room. It's nearing on four in the morning and Yabu finally has his essay finished, walking down to the study room to print it out. It takes him a few minutes of staring to actually recognize Hikaru as the student that bought the obscene amount of hand sanitizer, but Yabu supposes that's a good thing; he doesn't look sick anymore, sitting alone at a table, his papers splayed around him and his earbuds in his ears.

He looks focused so Yabu tries not to bother him, scurrying over to the printer, plugging in his laptop. He clicks print and waits a few moments before a horrific whirring and grinding noise starts coming from the machine, sounding painful, growing louder and more high pitched until he cancels the print job.

Miraculously, Hikaru is completely unaffected, drumming his fingers on the table, his eyes on his textbook. Yabu has to walk over and tap on his shoulder to get his attention.

“Oh, hi.” Hikaru smiles, pulling one earbud out, some English rock song Yabu vaguely recognizes blasting from the tiny speaker. Yabu finally notices his mouth, the uneven top row of teeth catching him as endearing. Yabu grins back, feeling sheepish.

“Sorry but… Can you help me?”

Hikaru nods readily, getting up and following Yabu over to his technology debacle, listening to Yabu describing the problem as he looks over the printer. Then he gets to his knees and opens a compartment with a loud click, and for a terrified second Yabu is sure he's broken the thing.

“Here's the problem.” He reports, pointing. There's a massive wad of paper jammed up in some pathway--Yabu doesn’t know anything about printer anatomy--Hikaru reaching a hand into the compartment. “I can fix it.”

“Thanks.” Yabu tells him as he works. “I’m so bad with technology; I’ve broken more phones than I’ve owned, I think.”

That makes Hikaru laugh, smiling up at him.

“You're lucky I'm here, then.” He says. “I work at the IT center on campus.”

Yabu nods a bit. “I'm a cashier, but you already knew that.”

Hikaru blinks after a few seconds of staring.

“Oh!” He exclaims. He looks happy suddenly, and he reaches over and touches Yabu’s arm for some reason. Yabu finds that he doesn’t mind. “Yeah. That's why I recognize you. What are you doing up so late?”

“Same thing as you.”

Hikaru raises his eyebrows, looking amused.

“You’re writing a dissertation on the technique of Toshusai Sharaku?”

Art major, Yabu remembers.

“Okay, maybe not exactly the same thing.” He allots with a laugh. “I just finished an essay.” He gestures to the printer hopelessly, but as though on cue the machine whirrs to life, and a minute later the aforementioned essay is transitioning from digital to print. Hikaru snatches up the first page before Yabu can even reach for it, jumping across the room.

“Hey!”

“The psychology of communication about politics in the media.” Hikaru reads as Yabu hurries after him, using his height to his advantage and reaching over Hikaru’s head with both hands to take the paper away. He grabs at it, holding onto one corner, but Hikaru doesn’t let go.

“Sounds boring.” Hikaru says with a bit of a laugh and Yabu laughs back, his arms coming to rest on Hikaru’s shoulders. They’re standing close, alone and giggly in the study room at four a.m. Hikaru lets the paper go.

“I’m a Communications major.” Yabu responds. Hikaru pulls a bit of a face.

“Yikes.” Is all he says before laughing again, and this time Yabu is close enough to notice a small, circular freckle on the left side of Hikaru’s nose. That’s cute too.

Yabu begins utilizing the tables in the study room as a place to get his work done, and is pleasantly surprised to discover that it’s where Hikaru spends a lot of time. Hikaru sees him, sits across from him, and occasionally they talk as they work. Yabu finds out that Hikaru likes being called by his first name, that he lives on campus because his family house is too far away, and that he’s deathly afraid of cats. Hikaru has a niece and a nephew, can play the bass guitar, and drinks a lot of coffee.

Yabu gives information in turn, about his own family, likes, dislikes, and childhood dreams.

“You wanted to be a professional soccer player?” Hikaru asks, his voice incredulous as he leans back in his chair.

“I like soccer!” Yabu exclaims defensively. “What, don’t think I could do it?”

“It’s ambitious, that’s all. All I wanted was to sell ramen.”

That makes Yabu laugh.

“Are you any good at it?”

“I make it in my room all the time.”

Yabu raises an eyebrow. Ramen means hot water, and hot water means a stovetop, or a microwave in the very slightest. Dorm residents are forbidden to have anything that could catch on fire and burn the whole place down. Hikaru pauses, lowering his voice.

“You’re not… You’re not an RA, are you?”

Residence Assistants had control of dorms and their residents, responsible for confiscating contraband items.

“Well, no.” Yabu says, grinning a little. “But…”

“But you can borrow it.” Hikaru says quickly. “It’s only an electric kettle.”

“Good.”

Hikaru grumbles slightly under his breath, but returns Yabu’s playful smile all the same. And Yabu takes him up on the offer only a few days later, lamenting over text about wanting a cup of tea. Hikaru shows up outside his room, the forbidden item tucked away securely in a cloth bag.

“Wait, how did you know where I live?” Yabu asks as he steps back to let Hikaru in. Hikaru turns away to pull the kettle out, setting it on Yabu’s messy desk.

“You told me once, and I just… Remembered.” He holds the kettle up to Yabu’s face, pointing as he explains. “Now, you put the water in here, and you press this button.” His voice is slow as he continues to explain, and Yabu supposes he’s trying to be condescending, but in truth Yabu has no idea how the kettle works, so it’s all quite helpful. “Got it?”

Yabu nods, but all it takes is a first attempt and somehow, he’s broken the thing. It starts smoking and the next second there’s a small fire on his desk, and he just stares, his mind blank of anything but panic. But he has to put the fire out, unplugging the kettle and upturning an entire water bottle over it. That does the job, the small flame fizzling out, the water splashing on a few stray assignments and all over the floor. Yabu looks down at the ruined kettle, feeling completely apologetic and realizing he doesn't even know where Hikaru’s dorm room is. But he needs to find him, and he needs to apologize.

When he does, and Hikaru looks down at the mess that used to be his precious contraband ramen maker Yabu feels worse than he expected, almost like he could cry. Hikaru catches the look on his face.

“Hey!” He exclaims, wrapping an arm around Yabu's neck and pulling him close. “You followed all of my directions, so the wires must have gone bad. It wasn't something you did, and I'm not going to get mad at a friend for that. It's a little funny when you think about it.”

Yabu didn't know they were friends already, but when Hikaru said it, it felt right in his chest.

Yabu loves being friends with Hikaru. First and foremost he's fun, Yabu immediately uplifted whenever he's around. It’s like magic, he muses, the way a casual “hey”, a knock on his door, or even a text message will bring a smile on his face. But he can’t help it; that's just the way Hikaru is, so bright and goofy.

But he's smart, too. He’s _weird_\--his own word, not Yabu’s, who got scoffed at for trying to call him “eccentric”. And Yabu supposes it's the Art major thing, which becomes increasingly apparent. Hikaru’s art style is largely cartoonish, and a tiny yellow bee that Hikaru insists is Yabu himself ends up being doodled in the corner on most of Yabu’s assignments, Hikaru’s pencil somehow always traveling across the table whenever they're working together and he's bored.

It doesn't take long for Yabu to realize that Hikaru is shaping up to be the best friend he’s ever had. All of the shared interests help, like alternative music and video games. Hikaru will often come over with nothing but a sketchbook and some pencils, lay next to Yabu on his bed, and simply watch him play. They'll talk and eat in between, but it can go on for hours, with Hikaru giving him tips and laughing at him when his character dies.

“Hey.” Hikaru rolls across the mattress, on his back with his shoulder touching Yabu’s elbow, one of his legs resting over Yabu's own. Yabu looks down, and one of Hikaru's slender fingers is suddenly touching his cheek. “I need to do a realism series as a project for one of my classes, and the teacher said to pick a subject that I won't get tired of looking at. Could I sketch you?”

“Oh, sure.” Yabu tells him. Hikaru grins.

“Thanks.” He says, but he doesn't roll over to where he was before, still lying on his back, still looking up at Yabu's face. Yabu almost asks “what?”, but doesn't.

It's a weekend and Yabu has Saturday off, so Hikaru stays the night. It's not really intentional; one minute they're talking and the next minute it's three a.m., but Yabu isn't complaining. There's enough room on his bed for both of them. Hikaru looks surprised, but Yabu thinks it would be stranger not to offer up the extra space and make a guest sleep on the floor. They’re friends. And it's because they're friends, just like the way it's okay when Yabu finds himself muttering compliments out loud, or when Hikaru puts his arm around Yabu’s shoulder, or when a causal argument escalates into a physical laughing mess. They're friends.

_It's fine._ Yabu tells himself as the lights click off and he's suddenly aware of Hikaru’s breathing right next to him, the backs of their fingers just barely touching across the blankets. _It's all fine._

The end of October sneaks up quickly, and with it comes the chill of fall and the excitement of Halloween. Hikaru is invited to three different parties, and after some begging Yabu agrees to go to one; he’s found over the years that being easily scared to tears is a strong deterrent for a grown man to go to any Halloween events. He can't help but agree though, with how enthusiastic Hikaru is about his costume, despite his friend's refusal to tell him what it is.

In all truth, Yabu expects something standard. Some hyperrealistic Freddy Krueger, or a reimagining of Ziggy Stardust. So when he stops by Hikaru’s dorm to pick him up, he’s completely floored.

“Look!” Hikaru exclaims, twirling, his eyes bright with excitement. “I'm Itano Tomomi!”

He is. He’s wearing a long and light brown wig with a small, tilted hat on it, the iconic black and red schoolgirl-esque outfit easily recognizable. He beams at Yabu’s stunned expression, his crooked smile completing the look perfectly.

“Do you like it?” He asks cutely, just as Yabu realizes he's staring. He feels that any answer he could give would be inappropriate. Hikaru looks really damn pretty, prettier than he should look in a skirt, a button-up, and a tie, but all Yabu manages out is “good job” before making an about face and leading the way out of the building. Hikaru giggles at his reaction and clings to his arm.

All things considered, the party seems it'll be fun when they get there. Yabu hadn't cared enough to do more for a costume than throw on a lab coat, but nobody cares about him next to the person he’s come with. Girls are gushing over Hikaru’s makeup and boys are pinching his ass, and though Yabu swore to himself that he won't drink, he finds himself with a red plastic cup in hand anyway.

After filling the quota for what felt like an appropriate amount of socializing they retreat together to a darker corner of the room. Hikaru sits next to him, his lips upturned and glossy.

“Having a good time?” He asks. Yabu nods, downing the rest of his beer. Since it's just one cup he isn't drunk, a light buzz spreading through his body.

“Good.” Hikaru says, and he looks genuinely happy about it. “See, this isn't scary at all.”

“Shut up.” Yabu tells him, and Hikaru laughs. “You're the scariest thing here.”

“No, I know I look good.” Hikaru retorts, twirling a finger in his hair and batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

“Yeah.” Yabu murmurs, and Hikaru hears him, surprise evident on his face that the teasing isn't continuing. “You do. You look really good.”

Then he's leaning in, and Hikaru isn't leaning away, Yabu catching Hikaru’s eyes flick to his lips. A second passes and they're kissing, and suddenly Yabu doesn't know which is worse; the realization that he wants this, or the realization deeper down that he wasn’t expecting Hikaru’s lips to be this sticky the first time.

Hikaru pulls back, panic welling in Yabu’s chest as his lips form a question. But then one of Hikaru's friends is there, pulling him up from his seat and away, Yabu using the distraction to get up and go home.

_I was drunk._ Yabu opens his eyes, the morning sun hitting his face. He isn't hungover. _I was drunk, and not thinking straight. And Hikaru was pretty dressed up like that._

The drunkenness is a lie, but Yabu feels a little better as he thinks back to Hikaru's costume. It wasn't Hikaru himself, but the skirt and the painted nails and the lip gloss.

Yabu’s door opens, Hikaru striding in. He's dressed in sweatpants and a tank-top with his hair pulled up and out of his face, and Yabu nearly curses out loud because no, it can't have been the skirt and the lip gloss because Hikaru still looks really damn pretty. It's a different sort of pretty, sure, sharper and stronger, not soft around the edges. A masculine sort of pretty, but pretty all the same.

“So,” he begins, sitting on the vacant chair across from Yabu’s bed--the other bed was removed to replace a broken one when Yabu’s roommate was a no-show--”I brought you the perfect hangover cure. I figure you're probably a little messed up this morning. I didn't see you drink that much, but you must have been out of it to kiss me like that and then disappear.”

Yabu’s skin burns; he wants to disappear now, but Hikaru is just smiling at him, pulling out of the bag in his lap some kind of a sandwich, as well as what has to be the biggest water bottle Yabu has ever seen.

“That wasn't an insult to your kissing skills.” Hikaru continues, pushing himself to his feet again and pulling open few of Yabu’s drawers. “The kiss was good, in case you were worried.” He's talking like he assumes Yabu doesn't remember, and for that Yabu is grateful. “You have some pain medication, right?”

Yabu nods, not wanting to say he’s actually fine. That comes along with implications, implications layered under suppressed panic. He accepts what Hikaru brought him, and Hikaru sits back down.

“I want you to drink all of that water.” Hikaru says reproachfully. Yabu can’t help his frown.

“Sorry for ruining your party.” He says. Hikaru quickly shakes his head.

“No, no. You didn't ruin anything. I mean, it was one silly, drunken thing you did, right?” He catches Yabu's eyes on the last word, as though waiting for the confirmation of his statement. Yabu can't look at him; he downs the meds instead.

“Yeah.” He finally says. “Yeah. I mean, people do weird things when they're drunk, like getting married and crashing their cars, and…” He trails off, unsure of what he's saying, and Hikaru purses his lips.

“Right, right. Drunk driving accidents and kissing your friend. That's the same.”

He gets to his feet, standing still for a few moments before heading to the door.

“Make sure you drink all that water.” He says over his shoulder. It sounds like he closes the door a little harder than he needs to, but Yabu hopes he's just hearing things.

Yabu gets nothing but silence from Hikaru for the next few days, and he doesn't try to look for him. He doesn't leave his room except to go to class, and tells himself it's a good thing; he needs to distance himself from Hikaru a little bit. That was all it was. They'd been spending too much time together, probably. He hasn't had a girlfriend in a while, and Hikaru looked pretty, and they’re close, so Yabu kissed him. _It's fine._

The idea of substituting Hikaru for a girlfriend makes him feel two ways at once. His chest feels weird at the prospect but at the same time, Hikaru can't be his girlfriend. Hikaru isn't a girl.

He doesn't want Hikaru to be a girl. He likes Hikaru being the way he is, strong-jawed and lean-muscled. But Yabu can't kiss him that way. And it’s only when Yabu allows himself to think about the kiss, late at night in his bed with his eyes closed, does he feel something about it. It’s a strange and negative feeling, like sadness and fear and disappointment and loneliness all at once, and he wallows in his confliction instead of sleeping. Waking up on time is hard, going to class is hard, and paying attention in class is hard, and one morning Yabu wakes up and he’s been struck with a fever sometime in the night, running to the bathroom and dry-heaving for a few minutes. Then he curls up in bed, both sweating and freezing cold, and he knows he’s been hit with the flu.

Getting the flu in autumn is nothing unexpected, but for some reason Yabu feels particularly pitiful, taking a few of the only fever reduction pills he has and trying to just get in bed and sleep. His door banging open startles him awake after a couple of hours and to his surprise Hikaru is there. Hikaru starts to say something as he enters, but he stops, and Yabu wasn’t paying enough attention to catch whatever it was.

“Are you okay?” He says instead, his voice now considerably softer than it had been when he came in, walking over to the bed.

“I’m sick.” Yabu mumbles, a strange part of him wanting to cry as Hikaru walks forward and puts a hand on his forehead.

“Well, obviously.” Hikaru offers up a gentle smile. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

And then Hikaru is gone. He’s left his sketchbook at the end of Yabu’s bed though, so Yabu picks it up and flips it open.

It’s surprising how many of these pages have his face on them, but even more surprising is those of them that don’t. There’s sketches of his hands, his neck and shoulders, and even one of a figure lying in bed, probably asleep, the shirt riding up the torso. There’s no face, the page cutting off, but the form looks thin though to be him.

“Do you have the flu? You look like the flu.”

Hikaru is back, now laden with a few bags of things. Yabu nods, and Hikaru gets to work immediately. In less than twenty minutes Yabu is sitting up in bed, the sweat wiped from his face and a cold patch on his forehead, a bowl of soup in front of him and a mug of tea in his hands. Yabu hates eating when he’s sick but Hikaru is looking at him insistently, so he tries to get some of it down.

“When did you get sick?” Hikaru asks. He’s frowning.

“This morning, I think.” When Yabu looks back at the past few days he remembers some sniffling and coughing, but he hadn’t put much stock into it.

“Oh.” Is all Hikaru says. Yabu eats about half of the soup before he gives up.

“So, why are you here?” He asks. Hikaru nods to the sketchbook that’s now fallen to the floor.

“I need to keep my portfolio going.” He explains. “I was going to ask to draw you again, but…”

“You can draw me if you want.” Yabu says. He doesn’t mind; he’s on the verge of a nap anyway, and Hikaru doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, so it would give him something to do.

“No, no, no.” Hikaru says quickly, coming over and sitting next to him at the edge of the bed. “I know you want to sleep, but you should drink this tea first. It’ll help a lot, I promise.”

Yabu takes the cup, realizing he’s shivering.

“I’m cold.” He whines. Hikaru laughs at him, but it’s more kind than condescending.

“Here.” He pulls his hoodie up and over his head, handing it over. Yabu scoots to the side as he puts it on, offering up space on the mattress. To his surprise Hikaru takes it, sitting up against the headboard.

“Lay down.” He tells Yabu, patting his chest. He looks extremely comforting and that’s all Yabu wants, burning with fever and shaking and cold, so he does as Hikaru tells him, his upper body propped up just enough for him to be able to drink. He has the tea in his hand, and Hikaru’s presence all around him, getting drowsier by the minute. He feels Hikaru laugh again, but it sounds more happy than amused as he picks up his sketchbook from the floor, Yabu drinking down about one third of his mug before he drifts off.

When he wakes up again, his room is dark and empty. It takes a bit of blinking and looking around for Yabu to realize that while Hikaru is gone, all of his stuff is still there, his sketchbook closed on top of Yabu's desk, a refilled mug of tea sitting next to it. Yabu picks up the tea and drinks some more of it, and it's surprisingly good. He's in the middle of wondering if it's time for more medicine when his door opens. It's Hikaru and he's obviously fresh out of the shower, his hair still wet, nothing but sweatpants on and a towel around his neck.

“You're awake!” He smiles, and Yabu can't really breathe, fully aware that it isn't his stuffy nose causing him problems. “It's past eight p.m., are you hungry?”

Yabu shakes his head. He's still staring, Hikaru noticing.

“Oh, I borrowed your shower.” He explains. “I borrowed your shampoo and body wash too, I hope you don't mind.”

There's something about it, about shirtless, wet-haired Hikaru smelling like he somehow belongs to Yabu that has him saying words before his brain could think them.

“Could you leave?”

“But you need someone taking care of you.” Hikaru’s voice is gentle and teasing, reaching down to wipe the fever-induced teariness from Yabu’s eyes with his thumbs. “You're a mess.”

“Please.” The word is barely a whisper but Yabu puts all the strength he can behind it. Hikaru freezes, then draws away completely.

“Of course.” Is all he says. “Call me when you feel better, okay?”

He pulls his shirt over his head and walks out the door, a very loud silence following him.

Yabu shoves his hands in his hair. He feels like he's going to throw up again, but it's not from the flu and he knows it. He's too tired right now, physically and mentally, to lie to himself; he's attracted to Hikaru. He curses out loud.

It's like a dam breaking, but without the waterworks. He's not crying, or smiling; he's just sitting there, trying desperately to contain the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. It's too many to comprehend, and while a few are easier to pick out than others--confusion, surprise, anxiety, _fuck_\--they all mesh into something easy to recognize. Fear.

He tries to shove the fear down his throat but it gets stuck, and he can't push it away further than the middle of his chest, where it sits and constricts tighter whenever he tries to breathe. Denial feels like a breath of fresh air.

It will go away. It has to go away; it's not him, or who he is. He’s Yabu Kota, Hikaru’s friend, and that was all. All he was, and all he wants to be. Right? Yabu wishes Hikaru had worn any other Halloween costume. His fever breaks.

He finishes drinking the tea as he sweats the fever off and begins feeling better immediately, if not a little hot and sticky. He wants to talk to Hikaru and not think about Hikaru at all at the same time, and while the second half of that desire doesn't work out during his shower, he figures that at least a phone call would be good. He picks up his cell phone, conjuring up an excuse for what he said earlier as he dials Hikaru’s number.

“Oh, hey.” Hikaru sounds surprised.“Feel better already?”

“Sorry.” Yabu says quickly. “I wanted you to go because I felt like I was going to start throwing up again, and I didn't want you to see that.”

“I don't care about that.” Hikaru says, a small laugh coming through his words. “So, did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Start throwing up again.”

“Oh, no. I actually feel a lot better.” That part is true. Now that his fever is going down, he feels that recovery isn't far away. It's thanks to Hikaru too, so he gives over the credit. “Whatever's in that tea you gave me is amazing.”

“Well it isn't anything illegal, I promise.” Hikaru tells him, laughing, and Yabu feels more alive than he has in weeks. He has absolutely no idea how he managed to survive those past few weeks without Hikaru in his life. He isn't doing that to himself again; he can't. He's going to push away whatever it is he's feeling--it's not really him anyway, it can't be--and be Hikaru's friend.

Yabu quickly finds that theory and practice are two very different things. It’s hard to be alone, because his mind always wanders off to Hikaru. It always starts out normal; they're talking, laughing. Sometimes Hikaru moves closer, sometimes Yabu does. Usually it's by the time their lips touch that Yabu pulls back, a high panicky feeling in chest as he tries to breathe, his fingernails digging painfully deeply into his palms. It will occasionally go further, but the second Hikaru touches him his eyes fly open and he shakes his head hard. The longer he allows the delusion to go, the sicker he feels when it's over.

Being with Hikaru does help, because they sit together and work on assignments, usually in Yabu's room, and he doesn't allow his mind to wander. It's comfortable like this, some of Hikaru's music playing in the background, speaking up when one or the other thinks of something funny to say. Hikaru is drafting an essay and Yabu should be working too, but he's decided it's much more important to count Hikaru's eyelashes than to put the finishing touches on his class project.

Hikaru laughs without looking up, blinking and breaking Yabu's concentration.

“I know I'm handsome but do you have to look at me like that? It's distracting.”

Yabu doesn't know what to say. Hikaru glances at him, amusement on his face. He's going to say something but Yabu doesn't wait to hear it because he's leaning in again, the impulse of the kiss playing over in his head too strong to ignore. And again Hikaru isn't leaning away, though that's probably more due to the surprise Yabu registers on his friend's face the second before their lips touch.

The kiss isn't what Yabu expects. It's better. It's sweet and soft and a little bit chapped and Hikaru draws back too soon. He searches Yabu's eyes and looks ready to say something, and this time Yabu isn't afraid. But he seems to think better of it, leaning in instead and kissing him. Hikaru's lips aren't hesitant against his now, kissing him with something akin to need that Yabu isn't expecting and sending a thrill of emotion through his chest.

Hikaru reaches up and touches his cheek. The thrill in Yabu’s chest isn't fading at all, getting stronger and morphing slowly into something less than good, worse than exciting. He's taking quick breaths in through his nose, struggling not against Hikaru's lips, but against the feeling inside of him. He's lightheaded.

“Kota?” Hikaru breathes out. He sounds concerned. He also sounds distinctly masculine, murmuring his name, and Yabu’s suffocating.

_I can't. I can't._

Yabu pushes Hikaru away and stumbles back at the same time, knocking his chair to the floor and slamming his back into the wall. Hikaru looks shocked and scared for him, and Yabu isn't sure if he's going to pass out or be sick, but he needs to escape.

He dashes to the bathroom and locks the stall door before curling in on himself, wrapping his arms around his body and squeezing his eyes closed, fighting to get his breathing under control.

_I can't. I can't._

Yabu looks up his symptoms later and the internet tells him that he's had a panic attack. He's not sure what that’s supposed to mean, or what he's supposed to do. One thing he has to do though is talk to Hikaru, because he's on the second day of avoiding him again, and that can't last. So he swallows the panic in his throat and goes down two flights of stairs, walking down the hallway to Hikaru’s dorm room.

It isn't Hikaru that answers when he knocks. It's a black haired young man in a sweater at least four sizes too big with earbuds in his ears, his pouty lips and sleepy eyes looking mildly confused and expectant.

“Is Hikaru here?” Yabu asks hesitantly, Hikaru's head appearing over the young man’s shoulder.

“Oh.” Is all he says, his voice quiet. “Inoo, could you go somewhere else for a little bit?”

“Of course.” The man Inoo says, looking at Yabu with a strange degree of familiarity as he brushed past him to leave. Hikaru steps back to let Yabu in, closing the door behind him.

“Hey.” He starts. Hikaru doesn't respond to the greeting. Instead he sits on his bed and pats the mattress next to him. Yabu doesn't sit down.

“I'm sorry.”

The apology hangs awkwardly in the air, Yabu knowing he should say more. What he should say is the hard part.

“I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have done what I did. It was inappropriate, and over the line, and I--”

“Me kissing you back was consent, if that's what you're worried about.” Hikaru's tone is dry, his expression saying that he's fully unaware that the advances being unwanted isn't what Yabu is afraid of. “I just want to know why you kissed me.”

“I didn't mean to.”

“It wasn't an accident.”

Yabu doesn't know which would be worse, lying or telling the truth.

“I… I wanted to.” He finally says, rubbing his hands down his face. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“Why do you think something's wrong with you?” The annoyance that was on Hikaru's face is gone, but Yabu can't tell what expression he's wearing now.

“It's not right, I'm not supposed to…” Yabu starts feeling a bit sick. Hikaru's staring patiently at him, waiting, but Yabu wishes he would do something else. He wants Hikaru to yell, be angry so that Yabu can just apologize and leave at that. He can't explain himself. There's no explanation kissing a friend twice, not one that isn't wrong. “I'm supposed to be your friend.”

Hikaru raises his eyebrows.

“I am your friend.” Yabu continues quicky. “Right?”

“Well, yeah.” He answers hesitantly.

“Right, and I don't know, ever since Halloween I've been a little…”

Hikaru smiles a little. “You remembered that? I couldn't ever tell, so I didn't bring it up.”

“I don't want anything to compromise our relationship.” Yabu finally says. “I just really like you, and this, and I'm sorry.”

“You never did answer my question.” Hikaru says. Then he stands up, looking at Yabu and blinking a few times. “Wait, you… Like me? I like you too, but I thought you knew that. This is a bit of a of backwards confession.”

“No!” Yabu swallows hard. “No, no, that's…”

“What?”

“You're a guy.”

Hikaru stands there. He just stands there, and stares at Yabu, and Yabu has the crushing urge to apologize again.

“So?” Hikaru says finally.

“So, so…” Yabu rings his hands, feeling the panic rise in his chest. He feels like he's been caught in a lie, or something. “So you're a guy and I'm a guy and that's… And I've had girlfriends, I'm not…”

Hikaru is just looking at him, not speaking, and he steps closer until there's maybe four inches of space between them. His eyes flick down to Yabu's lips for a moment, and in that moment all Yabu wants is for Hikaru to kiss him. Then Hikaru leans back, Yabu realizing he'd been leaning forward.

“Kota?” Is all Hikaru says, Yabu's mouth going painfully dry.

“I… I-”

“Are you scared right now?” Hikaru steps back and looks over him, Yabu seeing his eyes stop on his clenched fists. He's suddenly aware that he's shaking, just a little, and hopes Hikaru doesn't notice. It seems as though he does. “What are you afraid of?”

“I think that I like you.”

The words escape before he can stop them, and when they do his stomach writhes so violently that he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You're mentioned that, yeah.”

“No, but not… Not as a friend.” Yabu twists his hands in his shirt. “I think about kissing you sometimes, and… But…’

“I do too, and if we like each other then what?” Hikaru runs his hands down Yabu's arms, trying to hold his hands, but Yabu pulls away and takes a step back. That causes Hikaru to do the same, his expression growing wary. Yabu doesn't know what to say or how to say it, but he's dug himself a hole now, and as much as he wants to treat it as a grave and simply drop dead in the middle of Hikaru’s dorm room, he knows that isn't going to happen.

“Last time, when I kissed you, I… I panicked.”

“I noticed.” Hikaru says. He’s frowning, but he doesn't look angry.

“And I think that my body would rather me be miserable than just believe that this is real. That I'm… That I'm not--” He cuts himself off, swallowing thickly. “I got sick trying not to think about you.”

Yabu doesn't want to look at Hikaru, angling his eyes downwards. He still sees him move slightly, as though going to touch him before thinking better of it.

“Kota, I--”

Yabu looks up. Hikaru looks hesitant and conflicted and apologetic, and Yabu can't stand it.

“I-I need to go.” He needs to escape, stumbling over himself in his haste and walking as quickly as his long legs can carry him to make it back to his room. He falls to his bed as soon as his door is closed, rolling onto his back and clenched his eyelids tightly to keep himself from crying.

Two things were ringing in his mind, so loud his head was starting to ache. The first was fast becoming undeniable: he liked Hikaru, liked him in every way someone could like another person. He'd heard himself say it, heard the confession leave his lips, and when he had it felt more right than wrong. And Hikaru liked him too. He let that thought in, and for a moment everything was warm, and exciting, a whole field of moments with a friend he loved stretching out before him. Then the second realization came through, the dry grass catching fire and burning before his eyes, and he couldn't decide whether or not to even try and stop it.

The longer he thinks over what the hell is wrong with him, the clearer the face of his fear becomes. He'd had a second of clarity when talking to Hikaru earlier, realizing that he's so conflicted because falling in love with his friend--his distinctly male friend--has him looking back at himself. It's a young, immature, and scared version, sure, but it's still him, and Yabu knits his eyebrows together, rubbing his hands down his face.

He lays there in bed, trying to pass around the blame. It isn't his fault that it feels this way; he was always open and accepting. Even if his dad wasn't, even if his friends weren't, he was, and that has to count for something, right? So why does this scare him so much?

Because it isn't him. It hasn't been him for the entire twenty-two years of his life, and now he doesn't know what's happening. Why it's happening. He hasn't felt this way before, usually leaving his eyes on girls and otherwise keeping his distance. But obviously, distance doesn't work with Hikaru. Probably because he doesn't want it to. He wants to be around him, and close to him, and part of him feels that even if he hadn't kissed Hikaru at the Halloween party he would still be here anyway, laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. These feelings on their own are scary and make him feel sick, but it's better when he and Hikaru are together. It feels right that way, and feeling right is what Yabu wants more than anything.

Yabu takes a few days. Hikaru texts him once or twice, asking him if he's alright, and sometimes he is. Sometimes he isn't. He doesn't respond though, unwilling to make any hints at promises. And when he comes out of it, four minutes from midnight on a Thursday, he realizes that he still likes Hikaru, still likes him a lot, and that Hikaru is worth all of the shit he has going on. Undeniably worth it.

He sends a quick text to ask Hikaru if he's in his room, and at the affirmative response he heads down. Hikaru is waiting up for him when he gets there, in the simple tank-top and sweatpants that look so good on him.

“I'm sorry.” Yabu says again, and this time he really means it, hoping Hikaru can tell.

“This is familiar.” There's the smallest of smiles on Hikaru’s face, and it makes Yabu smile too. “How are you?”

“Better.” Yabu answers slowly, after a moment. “I, um.” The tension feels palpable, though maybe that's just him. “I still like you, if you'll have me.”

That has Hikaru surprised, and he looks hesitant to even touch him so Yabu does it instead, reaching out and taking Hikaru's hands. And it feels good, Hikaru looking up at him.

“If you're sure.”

Yabu nods, about to lean into him when Hikaru leans back, stopping him.

“Are you going to freak out again?”

That has him pausing, because as much as he wants to say no, he isn't sure. He can't be sure, and he can't answer, and Hikaru steps away.

“Listen.” Hikaru's expression is slightly pained, and suddenly Yabu is terrified of what he's about to say. “I really like you. I really like you a lot, but I don't want to do this to you. I don't want to be the reason you're sick, or scared, or any of that.”

“That's not your fault.” Yabu says quickly, taking Hikaru's hands again. Thankfully, Hikaru doesn't try to move away. “That's all me; that's all things I need to work through. It's scary, sure, and it's not going to feel good.” He waded through enough feelings over the past few days to know that much, at least. “This is just… New, to me.”

“But that's not how it's supposed to feel.” Hikaru argues. “My first relationship was nerve wracking in a good way, an exciting way, not…”

“It's going to be worth it.” Yabu tells him, and Hikaru's lips quirk up slightly into a smile. “This--” he rubs Hikaru's hands with his thumbs “--this is good, in an exciting way.”

“It is?” Hikaru leans in, and their foreheads touch. “How is this?”

He's smiling, honest-to-god smiling, and Yabu swallows, but there's nothing but butterflies in his chest. He leans in close and lets his nose bump against Hikaru's, nuzzling them together.

_It’s fine._

Hikaru is still smiling as Yabu’s lips touch his, light and hesitant, his heart leaping when he feels the contact. He pauses a second, but the thrill in his chest doesn't take a turn, so he presses the kiss deeper, stepping closer, Hikaru sighing into his mouth. That feels good too, and it’s Hikaru that pulls back, pressing their foreheads together again and squeezing his fingers. The high feeling is lingering in his chest, just a little tight across his lungs, but still Yabu squeezes back.

_ It’s all fine._


End file.
